A/N: After having been completely stuck with the timeline for this story, and life getting in the way, I finally have an update. I do hope there is still someone with saintly patience that wants to read it.

Rated M for newlywed bliss. Sort of.

Feast

Tegwen was glowing with the excitement of the evening, Eirian noticed. Her sister was wearing a deep red dress that set off the fairness of her hair, which was held neatly out of her face for once. The polished black combs in her hair gleamed in the light of the many candles and hearth fires. Most of the blonde mass bounced down Tegwen's back as she weaved through the intricate pattern the dancers were making.

Eirian was standing to the side, as far from the two gigantic hearths as possible. The hall was hot enough without the added heat from the fires, in her opinion. She lifted a surreptitious hand to lift her hair from her neck, hoping to cool off a bit, but to no use. It was simply too warm.

Seeing as tonight's feast was in honour of her marriage, Eirian knew that she probably had to take part in the festivities more actively, but given the way that had all come about, she just could not bring herself to do so. She took care to be polite and friendly, appearing as happy as she could, but she was just not in a celebratory mood.

She nodded at Vincentius, but did not engage him in conversation, as she had promised her sister that she would listen to Tristan's command. Eirian bit on the inside of her cheek to hide a smirk. Her husband had not appreciated her snide remark that he had no reason to worry about his very obedient wife who would speak to no one without his permission.

The air began to feel too stifling, denying her breath. Eirian made her way to the doors, wanting to get some fresh air outside. She sent an apologetic smile to Gawain's wife Ragnell, who waved at her to join the dancers.

The moment she stepped out of the fort into the cool night air, she gave a sigh of relief. She made a slow round around the courtyard, enjoying the sense of goosebumps as the perspiration on her skin dried. Summer was drawing near its end. The nights were already turning chilly.

She stopped her stroll to look at two young people stumbling into the courtyard, the girl tugging on the arm of the boy, who clearly had been imbibing wine or ale. The girl laughed and stood still, allowing the boy to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her neck. The laughter turned into a giggle and the girl grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the boy back, who only grinned and kissed the girl full on the lips.

Eirian smiled and turned away, only to realize with a start that the two were around her age. She looked back with slight envy. She felt so much older sometimes. Shaking her head, she chided herself that she had responsibilities – had chosen those responsibilities. "Stop pouting," she muttered to herself.

She turned away again, only to find a looming shadow in front of her. With a startled cry, she reeled backwards. A steadying hand extended out of the darkness and took her elbow, Tristan's face emerging from the shadows at the same time.

Eirian pressed a hand against her thumping heart. "Dear God, you scared me half to death," she breathed and chuckled, now beginning to feel rather silly. "What are you doing here?"

"You left the feast."

Eirian arched an eyebrow. "I did. So? Were you afraid I'd make a run for it?"

Tristan's mouth seemed to twitch, but it was hard to tell in the gloom. "Not unlikely." He looked at her in what she thought was an inquiring way.

"I wanted to get some fresh air," she explained. "It's too warm inside." She tilted her head and returned his questioning look. "You really distrust me, don't you? What did you think I was up to? Attempting to start a rebellion right here in the courtyard, just to get out of our preposterous marriage?"

This time she was sure his mouth twitched into a smirk, though it was gone as fast as it appeared. "I would not think it beyond you to try to do something foolish," he replied, still in that infuriatingly impassive tone.

Eirian snorted rudely, then shrugged and admitted, "Well, I cannot deny that the thought has crossed my mind."

"No doubt," he said. The smirk that followed was much broader than the one before, but by no means did it convey humour. Eirian swallowed uneasily, unsettled by the sudden wolfishness in Tristan's expression. "Rebel as much as you want, but you are wedded and bedded. And mine." He eyed her with a predatory gleam, the tip of his tongue moistening his bottom lip. "Though I don't mind a bit of a struggle."

Wide-eyed, Eirian took a step back. "Aren't you taking well to marriage," she quipped, the intended sass completely negated by the quaver in her voice.

"Certain aspects of it are not without their merit, it would seem."

Eirian did not have to ask which aspects. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. Flustered and nervous, she took another two steps back, realizing her mistake immediately. Her half-hearted attempt at fleeing the scene set Tristan to action. He lunged forward and took her upper arms, pulling her out of the torch-lit courtyard and into the shadows he had come from.

"Tristan," she hissed. "Tristan, what are you..." She was cut off by his mouth, hot and firm on hers. She struggled to get out of his grip, turning her head sideways. "You can't keep doing this," she burst out.

He stared down at her. "You misunderstand. I can." He kissed her again, this time cajoling instead of brutal, though no less insistent, teasing her lips and the corners of her mouth. Well, it seemed he was not to be dissuaded, she thought, and – damn it if she wasn't already kissing him back. What was she doing? It was as if only part of her mind was protesting, the other part seemed more than happy to let Tristan do what he wanted. That part was telling her that no matter how much she disliked the fact, she was married to this man, and her body did like what he was doing, so why not simply enjoy it?

Because it made everything complicated. She did not want complications – she wanted this to be clear-cut and uncompromising.

But you love politics, the other part of her mind smirked, the part that now made her open her mouth, in response to Tristan's tongue tracing her lips. Politics is also complicated. You love complicated matters.

Not this! she protested. Not this! This could not be complicated. Politics she could understand and keep a firm grasp on, but this was too confusing to control.

Eirian was snapped out of her internal discussion when Tristan made her walk backwards until she was against a wall, keeping his mouth locked on hers and leaning his body into hers from hip to chest.

She tried to clear her head, but did not know how, not when his tongue was doing such wicked things to her mouth. She briefly wondered what Tristan had done to her body to make it want him in this way, even as her mind could not wrap itself around her response. When he pushed his thigh between hers, pressing against her so very intimately, Eirian lost her train of thought, no longer able to concentrate on anything but the delicious friction he was creating.

Tristan's body against hers was a compelling reminder of her wedding night, and with the appearance of those images the last sane part of her mind evaporated. Eirian rubbed her hips experimentally against Tristan's, and gasped at the sparks of pleasure it sent through her belly. Wanting more of it, she moved her hips again, with more fervour. Tristan growled, his hand shooting down her side and wedging itself between the wall and her body, grabbing her buttocks and pressing her into him even harder.

Eirian choked out a soft moan. Tightening his grip on her backside, he moved her against him in a slow rhythm that only seemed to increase the ache between her thighs instead of alleviating it.

She let out another moan, tinged with frustration this time, her hands clenched in the back of his tunic. She could feel his hardness pressing into her hip and it made something inside her coil tighter and tighter. She wanted more, more of this, but didn't know how to ask for it. Her skin felt searing hot and her body was demanding to be relieved of this tension. She ripped her mouth away from Tristan, heaving in much needed air.

Tristan slid one hand around the back of her head, tangling in her hair, and kissed her again, his mouth sliding down to her neck after a moment. Eirian took a shuddering breath when he latched on to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. When he replaced his tongue with his teeth, biting down softly, she groaned, her hips jerking towards him on their own accord. "Please," she whispered, not really knowing what she was pleading for. Just more, more of this, that was all the thought her hazy mind was able to construct at the moment.

Tristan stilled, his hand tightening even further in her hair. After a forceful mutter against her neck, he straightened, letting go of her. "We'll finish this after the feast."

Eirian stared at him, still befuddled. "What?" she breathed, her voice hoarse from desire.

The corner of Tristan's mouth curled up. "Unless you want half of Camelot to see me taking the lady of Caer Brannum up against a wall."

Truthfully? At this point Eirian wasn't sure she'd even care. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but Tristan beat her to it. "Come on," he said and pulled her away from the wall she was still leaning against. "You'd regret it in the morning."

Never mind his words, he looked very pleased with himself, Eirian noticed. Glaring at him, she smoothened her dress and hair. As they turned to walk back to the Hall, she saw him adjusting his breeches out of the corner of her eye. She smirked wickedly. At least he was suffering discomfort as well.

Blissfully unaware of her sister's troubles, Tegwen had been having the night of her life. There were rarely such big feasts as this in Caer Brannum, and even when there had been, she'd never been allowed to go. Too young, her father had always said, and so had her sister, up until very recently.

So, having grasped this rare opportunity with both hands, Tegwen had been dancing all night, stopping only for a drink every now and then. Tendrils of her blonde hair were sticking to her neck and forehead, her face was glowing with heat, her feet were burning, but she could care less. As far as she was concerned, her sister should celebrate her marriage every week if it meant feasts like this.

Wiping her hair from her face, Tegwen looked around for Eirian, and found her, surprisingly enough, with Tristan. Eirian was watching the dancers, while Tristan was standing behind her, bent over so his lips were very close to her ear, speaking softly to her. It was difficult to see in the smoky, fire-lit hall, but it looked as if Eirian's face was turning redder and redder by the moment. Tegwen wondered if Tristan was picking another fight with Eirian, but her sister didn't seem all that angry. In fact, she was leaning slightly backwards, closer to Tristan.

When his lips brushed her ear, Eirian's eyes fluttered shut. She turned her head slightly and said something in return, at which Tristan's hand snaked around her waist and pressed her backwards against his body. Eirian bit her lip.

Tegwen blinked. Well... That was... That did not look like a fight at all. Not sure what to make of them, she looked away and found the curly-haired young knight she had met earlier that day in front of her.

"Oh, no."

"Lady Tegwen!" he grinned. "You look radiant, the shining star of this evening."

Tegwen wrinkled her nose. "What do you want? If you're wondering about Sir Tristan, I haven't asked him yet if he still wants to kill your friend for his stupid ruining of that mission," she snapped. "He's been... preoccupied." She sneaked another glance in the direction of her brother-in-law and her sister. Yes, definitely still preoccupied.

Lucan followed her look and his grin widened. "Very preoccupied, I see. Ah, young love is so inspirational. Well, not so young in Tristan's case, but no matter. We should let ourselves be inspired anyway."

"By young love? And how old are you yourself, little grandfather?" retorted Tegwen.

"Sixteen, why?" replied Lucan, unfazed.

"Never mind." Really, thought Tegwen, this was one of the king's knights? "I am not going to be inspired with you."

Lucan smirked. "That's a pity. How about just a dance, then?"

Tegwen hesitated, suspecting he'd just said something inappropriate, but not quite being able to put her finger on it. "I don't know."

"It's just a dance, come on." Lucan grabbed her hand and pulled her into the throng of dancers.

Eirian was feeling jittery, excited, and angry all at once. She could not believe Tristan had left her in such a state, certainly could not believe she wanted him to finish what he started, and especially could not believe that he was actually persisting in his teasing right in the middle of the Great Hall.

It was all very covert, of course, because the bastard made sure that no one saw that his hand kept lingering on the curve of her hip or low on her back, or snaked across her waist for a moment, pressing her back against his body, his lips touching her ear while he said unspeakable things to her. Well... maybe that last one had caught some attention, if Lancelot's smirk was anything to go by.

But Tristan's dark looks from halfway across the Hall while she mingled in the crowd were just as disconcerting. She could feel his eyes on her all the time, even if she could not see him, and she knew what those eyes were saying. That he would make good on his promise to pick up where they had left off. She wanted it – there was no denying it. Eirian's whole skin was humming, so aware of him she was. But the intensity of his gaze was alarming, as was the way he stalked around the Hall, his eyes trained on her no matter who he was speaking to.

More than once she thought of running, but she distracted herself by making small-talk with whomever was in her vicinity. But the feeling of being cornered just became worse and worse, mixing with the excitement from earlier in the evening and sending her head spinning, until she could not think straight anymore. The music and the chatter was so loud, and the heat and the smoke were suffocating, and everywhere she went there was Tristan's presence, just in the corner of her eye or right in front of her, pinning her with that unrelenting stare. She felt like prey, and being preyed upon by the likes of Tristan was more frightening than exciting.

Eirian looked around the Hall, trying to search inconspicuously for that pair of dark eyes that were haunting her, quickly looking away when she found them each and every time, and continuing her conversations with increasing desperation.

The moment she could not see him anymore, Eirian hurried towards the great doors of the Hall, determined to get away so she could just breathe. She forced herself not to run, her eyes fixed on the nearing doors. She stretched out her hand to push it open, her fingertips brushing the wood, when it was yanked away by a large hand. Eirian stumbled into a hard body, and knew who it was before she looked up into flashing, dark eyes.

A completely inappropriate word slipped from her lips before she could help it.

"Indeed," replied Tristan. "Running, eh?"

Her denial died in her throat when she saw the challenge in his eyes. He was enjoying this. Eirian's breath hitched with apprehension, and she kept quiet, not daring to egg him on any further. Her body had other ideas, though. The dull throbbing between her thighs refused to cease, no matter how anxious Eirian was.

She licked her dry lips nervously, trying to think of a response. The movement made Tristan's eyes snap to her mouth, his nostrils flaring. Without a word, he opened the doors of the Hall and walked out, dragging her along with him.

Fortunately, the way to their chambers was not that long, because it was hard to keep up with his long strides. She was silent all the way, her breathing coming in short, nervous bursts. Tristan pushed her through the door first, where her maids were waiting for her. Eirian tried to compose herself, but a concerned frown formed on Bethyn's face.

"Out," commanded Tristan behind her.

Bethyn didn't move, her eyes flicking back to Eirian. Any other moment, Eirian would have been glad of that display of loyalty, but right now she did not want to push Tristan any further than she feared she already had. "Yes, thank you, Bethyn," she said quickly. "I won't be needing you tonight."

Bethyn curtsied and herded the other two maids outside. Tristan slammed the door closed so fast it nearly trapped the hem of Bethyn's dress.

Eirian slowly took a few steps backwards, retreating further into the room and taking refuge at the rough-hewn wooden table that was still littered with half unpacked items from their arrival earlier that day. Tristan unbuckled his belt, threw it aside, and pulled his tunic over his head. "Take off that dress," he demanded, beginning to unlace the neckline of his shirt at the same time.

Eirian timidly shook her head. She was lost somewhere between fear and excitement, and unsure of Tristan's mood, she didn't know which to listen to. He crossed the distance between them within the blink of an eye, coming nearly nose to nose with her. Eirian gripped the edge of the table tightly.

"You didn't refuse me in the courtyard," he muttered, his lips brushing hers. "Rubbing yourself against me like a cat."

Eirian's eyes widened at his words. "That's... that's..." she stuttered, absolutely mortified.

"So what changed?"

"You're scaring me," she whispered, foregoing any pride she might have still had.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Am I?" He reached down, keeping his eyes on hers, and slipped his hand under her skirt. Eirian started when he touched her ankle. Slowly, Tristan straightened up again, dragging his hand up her leg as he stood. She held her breath, her nails digging into the table.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he reached her womanhood, cupping her with his hand and sliding one finger back and forth between her folds. "That's not fear, Eirian."

Too embarrassed to keep looking at him, she averted her face, grinding out a strangled groan as his thumb began rubbing circles on a spot that shot sparks all the way down to her toes.

His husky voice made her shiver. "Still scared?"

Her reply was little more than a moan. "No."

Tristan's other hand wrapped around the back of her head, his lips suddenly crushing hers. He kissed her deeply and roughly, but Eirian didn't care, putting as much force into it as him. She pushed against his tongue with her own, challenging his demanding kiss. He was driving her towards a point beyond control, her fear of pushing him too far thrown to the wind. She bit his bottom lip, hard.

He growled and bit back. It hurt, but in a good way. Tristan hissed something she didn't understand, pulled her away from the table, turned her around and pushed her back into it, his fingers tugging forcefully on the laces on her back. He yanked the neckline down impatiently, taking her shift with it, exposing the upper half of her body.

Eirian freed her arms from the dress and braced herself against the table, panting heavily, and focussed on the hardness that was pressing against her lower back. Tristan's hands came around to her breasts, rolling and plucking at her nipples. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and nipping at sensitive spots. Eirian tilted her head to give him more access, bringing up one arm to slide her hand in his thick, black hair.

One of his hands abandoned her breasts to pull her skirts back up, and slid between her legs again, stroking her expertly. "Tristan," she gasped, her hips moving in time with the rhythm of his hand and trying to push back against his hips at the same time. "Please."

She begged silently that he would not torment her any further and protested vocally when both his hands suddenly released her. Looking over her shoulder she saw him take off his shirt. Tristan grabbed her waist and turned her around, planting her on top of the table.

Here? she thought fleetingly. He was going to do it here?

Tristan untied the laces of his breeches, hauled her skirts all the way up to her hips, and pulled her towards him by the back of her knees. She leaned forward to kiss his chest, rubbing her palms up and down the hard planes at the same time. She traced the diagonal scar across his chest again, and boldly let her tongue follow.

Taking the soft rumble in his chest as appreciation, she turned her attention to his flat nipple, swirling her tongue around it, just to see if it did to him what it did to her. It did, she noted with satisfaction. Feeling extremely daring, she slid her hands down his sides and slipped them inside his breeches, pushing them down his hips, releasing his manhood.

Eirian swallowed, her nerves resurfacing for a moment. On her wedding night, she hadn't actually seen it, only felt it. Now she touched it cautiously and then dragged her fingertips from its base to the tip. It twitched in her hand, and above her, she heard Tristan suck in his breath through his teeth. She wrapped her hand around it to feel it better, somewhat fascinated by the contradiction of velvety skin and hard flesh.

Tristan cursed and grabbed her wrist to still it. She let go, looking up at him. "I'm sorry."

He grinned. "Don't be."

Before she had time to ask what he meant, he was pushing himself into her. Eirian wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing her lips against his collarbone as she felt her insides stretch to accommodate him. Tristan wrapped her legs around his waist, and following his lead, she locked her ankles behind his back.

Tristan's hands reached for her hips, gripping them tightly, and then he sheathed himself to the hilt in her with a single thrust. Eirian muffled her cry against his neck. Fingers digging into her flesh, he began sliding himself in and out in a slow, steady rhythm that had Eirian soon teetering on the edge of madness.

"More." The rawness in her own voice shocked her. "More."

Tristan took her arm from his neck and pushed against her midriff until her back was flat on the table. He hooked his arms under her knees and then slammed back into her, deeper than ever before. Eirian arched off the table, a scream ripping from her throat.

His breathing was coming in ragged gasps, she could hear it over the blood drumming in her ears. He began to pound into her without relent, driving the very air from her lungs. Eirian's head was thrown back, her mouth half-open in an attempt to breathe. Never had she imagined it could be this way. Never had she imagined she would enjoy it this way.

She didn't think she'd be able to walk tomorrow, and was surprised that she liked that thought.

Tristan did not let up, her legs locked in his grasp, his merciless thrusts bringer her closer and closer to oblivion, but never close enough. She was going mad, and was damn near ready to beg, when he let go of one of her legs to bring his hand between their bodies. The moment he touched her, she was gone, her vision blinded by white light, every fibre of her screaming in ecstasy. Somewhere very far away she heard a sudden roar, and felt Tristan spill inside her.

Slowly coming to, she found Tristan slumped over her, his head resting between her breasts. Groggily, Eirian weaved her fingers in his sweat-soaked hair. She could not move. She was just going to go to sleep here, though it would give the maids a hell of a shock when they came back.

On second thought...

She gently pulled Tristan's hair. "Bed?" she suggested.

Despite her earlier misgivings about Lucan, Tegwen was having fun. Together they'd joined the chains and circles that the dancers formed, and when they needed a breath, they went to the side, clapping along with the rhythm of the music.

Tegwen glanced at the knight out of the corner of her eye. She didn't quite know what to make of him. He was completely obnoxious and annoying, of course, but so had his friend Gwilyam been, so Tegwen supposed this must be a common trait of young knights. She couldn't be sure, for she had never interacted much with boys of her age. Her father and her sister had always kept her very protected.

Despite his less than favourable first impression, Lucan was beginning to win her over by being very nice to her. And he turned out to be a reasonably good dancer, able to dance and talk at the same time.

She risked another glance at him. He was cheering the dancers on, his light brown curls bouncing around his face. As Gwilyam passed them by, dancing hand in hand with two red-haired girls, Lucan called out to him. Gwilyam turned his head, linked the hands of the girls together, and stepped out of the throng.

"Entertaining your sisters?" grinned Lucan.

Gwilyam shrugged indulgently. "I'm helpless when they beg."

"What if Fflur begs you?" asked Lucan.

I would say no. I'd be much too afraid that her baby suddenly falls out," shuddered Gwilyam.

"Then you'd best start running, because here she comes," informed Lucan.

"Lady Fflur?" inquired Tegwen, as she spotted the heavily pregnant woman heading their way, arm linked with Lancelot. "Sir Galahad's wife? She's your sister?"

"My eldest sister, yes. You've met her?"

"When we arrived here, briefly. So that means that you are a son of Sir Bors?"

"You didn't know?" asked Lucan her. "Ah, well, the difference in amount of hair tends to throw people off."

Fflur and Lancelot arrived, Fflur letting go of the royal advisor and wrapping her arm around Gwilyam's. "Gilly, be a dear and take me to my room," she said. "I am done for the night."

" Well, where is Galahad?" asked Gwilyam.

"Passed out on a bench after a drinking contest with our dear father, who is right beside him," replied Fflur. "I have every intention of letting him spend the night there. I need my rest."

Gwilyam grinned. "So I shouldn't try to wake them up with a bucket of cold water?"

Fflur raised a threatening eyebrow at her younger brother. "No."

"Oh, you are getting cranky," teased Gwilyam. "I will escort you away immediately." Fflur said goodnight to the others and walked off towards the doors with her brother.

Lancelot stayed. "How are you liking the feast, Tegwen?"

"I like it very much," answered Tegwen gladly. "I've never been to any feast this large before."

"Maybe you should stay in Camelot more often then," said Lucan.

Tegwen smiled. "Maybe."

Lancelot cleared his throat, arching an eyebrow at Lucan. The young knight returned a sheepish smile, but his attention was diverted by the arrival of a man Tegwen hadn't met before. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his strawberry-blond hair straight and held together at the base of his neck. Tegwen estimated him to be somewhere in his twenties.

"Sir Lancelot," the man said. "Young sir Lucan. And I don't think I have made your acquaintance yet, my lady?"

"This is lady Tegwen of Caer Brannum," Lancelot introduced her. "Tegwen, this is Huw of Elfed, son and heir of Lord Eurig."

Tegwen curtsied. "Sir."

"Ah, the sister of the infamous lady Eirian, who has had half the kingdom in an uproar," replied Huw.

Tegwen saw Lancelot's polite expression shimmer into something sharper. He eyed Huw intently with dark, shrewd eyes. Tegwen did not quite understand Lancelot's sudden mood change, but the chill that she felt between the two men was undoubtedly real. "Surely," she said quickly, "all that is settled now."

Huw sent a short, condescending smile her way. "Yes, Eirian has managed to worm her way out of a dire situation, hasn't she?"

Tegwen wasn't sure whether Eirian would agree with that, but she thought it best to leave that unspoken.

"Forgive me," drawled Lancelot, "but it sounds as if you take issue with the decision of the king?"

Huw presented another smile, one that dripped with falsehood, according to Tegwen. "Of course not," said Huw. "Where is she, anyway? I haven't had the chance to congratulate her on her advantageous second marriage."

Lancelot sneered. "It must have been quite an unfortunate circumstance that prevented you from congratulating her all night."

Huw's face was cold and challenging.

Tegwen swallowed. This was an enemy of her sister. "She left earlier," she said quickly.

"With Lord Tristan," said Lucan. "Newlyweds, I'm sure you understand."

"I'm surprised at their... affection," replied Huw. "After all, everyone knows that this marriage was arranged with undue haste."

"What's this? Surely not a sour face, Huw?" smirked Lancelot. "You were the one who retracted your offer of marriage to her. She had no choice but to look elsewhere for a husband."

Huw's jaw tightened.

"Aye," continued Lancelot breezily, "perhaps it would have been better not to listen to vile rumours whispered by malcontent exiles. Your high king did not, and he blessed lady Eirian's marriage to Tristan himself."

"It is an advantageous marriage, though, isn't it?" said Tegwen sweetly. "I daresay it is even more advantageous than any of the proposals that were retracted."

Tegwen smiled in return to the eyebrow Lancelot cocked at her in surprise. "I must admit I very much like her choice too," she added, as if unaware of the barb she had just handed out. "I have no doubt that Caer Brannum will be kept safe under the lordship of my new brother."

Lucan snorted. "Well, that's true. Tristan particularly dislikes other people touching what is his."

"Yes," said Tegwen. "That should be warning enough." She beamed up innocently at Huw. "For the Saxons, of course."